


Grind your teeth, I'll grind mine too (there's a bird in the kitchen and it's screaming your name)

by Pomodoridori



Category: Miss Peregrine's Home for Peculiar Children (2016), Miss Peregrine's Home for Peculiar Children - Ransom Riggs
Genre: Accidental Time Travel AU, Character Study, Gen, alma yeets herself into the past, and has to do lots of introspection, this is set right after library of souls btw, warnings for mild swearing but its honestly not too bad just a few 'fucks'
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-23
Updated: 2019-03-22
Packaged: 2019-11-28 07:11:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18205178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pomodoridori/pseuds/Pomodoridori
Summary: ...Alma fucks up. She doesn’t mean to, of course.  But there she is, stranded who knows where and in who knows what century....she's going to need to find another ymbyrne before she screws anything else up.





	Grind your teeth, I'll grind mine too (there's a bird in the kitchen and it's screaming your name)

...Alma fucks up. She doesn’t mean to, of course.  But there had been such a rush, and the children kept talking to her while she’d been trying to concentrate, and there’d been an influx of night terrors after the horrible few days with the Wights, and she’d been comforting her wards, not to mention her own night terrors, and, well, she was exhausted.  So she’d accidentally let slip the wrong word when she was folding open a time loop, and things in there were...off. And, also, she couldn’t find the exit.

_ I know it’s got to be here somewhere _ , she thought, determined.  Loop entrances were  _ always _ exactly where they were supposed to be, but this time…

Alma is simply grateful she hasn’t accidentally trapped her children into this loop with her.  She  _ knows  _ they are more than capable of looking out for themselves, and they’d take this loop on with a vengeance, but she can’t stand the idea of putting them through any more trials.  Not after the Wights.

She’d read about this happening to ymbrynes a few times before.  Creating time loops was a finicky business, and slip-ups were common among ymbrynes-in-training.  There’d been one who’d somehow managed to split herself into four different loops. Apparently she’d needed to be institutionalized.  And others who’d sent themselves spinning into the future. Most, however, would end up as Alma had, sometime in the past. The thing was, these loops were usually only a day or two behind the times, and they’d simply snap shut and spit the ymbryne out back into her time.  But this loop...it was a lot further back than that. The air smelled heavy with ozone, thick. This place had to be at least a hundred years into the past.

Alma couldn’t wait a hundred years for this loop to close.  Her wards-- they’d go  _ mad _ trying to find her.  She couldn’t let them lose her again.  She couldn’t lose  _ them _ again.

Alma’s going to need to figure out where she is, and then find someone who could help her. She  _ hopes _ she’ll be able to find another ymbryne.  Alma closes her eyes and tries to remember her geography.  Then she has an idea, one so simple she nearly smacks herself for not thinking of it quicker.   _ I’ll fly above the fields, and then I can see where I am.  I should be able to find a settlement of houses, or the ymbryne in charge of this area… _

Halfway up to her regular cruising altitude Alma has a revelation.  She’s been here before! A very long time ago, when she was young, still learning how to fold time…  If Alma were human she’d gasp, and as it is she nearly drops the clothes that she carries bundled in her talons.  But all she can do is flap higher, faster, hoping against hope…

Once she sees the foothills leading into mountains and the lake shaped like a kingfisher she is sure:  _ I am near my old training school!   _ Alma gives a victorious screech and soars to the northeast.  She had a perfectly clear map back to the old ymbryne house in her head.  Alma had flown over these fields hundreds of times as a young ymbryne, relishing the joy of flight.

With luck, Ms. Avocet and the other ymbrynes were at the old school, and they’d be able to help her!

It takes twenty minutes to reach the ymbryne school, and Alma can feel her heart singing with excitement at seeing it again.  She wonders if she’d even started training yet…Alma may have been taken back to a time before she was even born. Alma dives out of the sky to land in a tree, then carefully hops down and shifts back, putting on her clothes.  She wrinkles her nose in distaste, as they are cold and slightly damp from the flight.  _ Still, _ she thinks,  _ better than nothing. _

From the tree it is a five minute walk down the gravel path to the ymbryne school.  It stands exactly as she remembers it: tall and wide, with many windows, built in a curious amalgamation of stone and wood.  The wall of stone that rings the front courtyard is waist-height, and the iron hinges of the gate open smoothly and silently, just as Alma remembers.  She is holding back both tears and a grin.

 

\---

It’s quiet when she enters her old school.  The house is large, airy, high ceilinged. It is  _ exactly _ as she remembers it-- the crooked coat rack by the door, the stacks of books piled everywhere, the potted plants forming a miniature jungle around the windows.  She breathes a sigh of relief. Even after all this time, this old school still feels like  _ home _ to her.  Stepping through the doorway is like a massive comfort.

After a moment of staring, Alma calls out, “Hello?”

Nobody answers.

Alma frowns.   _ Strange-- unless they’re in the back gardens _ ?

She decides to explore the school room by room to find Mrs. Avocet and her ymbrynes. 

 

\---

 

There is a man--  _ no, a boy, _ Alma decides as she gets closer-- curled on the couch.  His back is to her, and he doesn’t respond to her soft, “hello?”.  Definitely asleep, then.

_ I’ll just wake him up to ask where the ymbrynes are, _ Alma thinks.

She is careful not to knock over the stack of magazines teetering next to the table, and puts a gentle hand on his shoulder.  From here, standing over him, she can see his face a bit better, though it is still cast in shadow. The curve of his cheekbone is strangely familiar.

“Excuse me,” she says, giving his shoulder a gentle shake.

The boy twitches, readjusts himself so a beam of light bisects his face.

“Excuse me,” she tries to say again, but it gets lost in her throat.  Alma’s eyes widen. She knows this face. She stares, frozen in horror.

The boy shifts a little again, and at his movement Alma panics, stumbling backwards.  The back of her leg collides with the tea table, and she trips backwards, knocking magazines to the floor with a loud yelp.  Alma scrambles back on her feet, hoping that she hasn’t just woken  _ him _ up, but to her dismay she watches him jolt awake with a groan when a final magazine slaps onto the floor.

“Wha--?” he asks, looking about, before his gaze settles on her.  Confusion, then suspicion, etches itself onto his features.

Alma is still staring at him.   _ His eyes _ , she thinks,  _ they’re that soulful brown that always looked so cold on him. _

The boy looks a bit uncomfortable with her scrutiny, and draws himself into a sitting position.  “...your mouth’s open,” he mutters balefully, voice still rough from sleep.

Alma shuts it.  She still can’t speak.

He frowns, tilts his head to the side.  “...who are you?” he asks.

Alma tried to speak.  She really did. But all she can manage is a little “aa-aaa-aah,” to which the boy rumples his nose.

He squints at her.  “Do I know you from somewhere?”

“Jack,” she manages, though her heart is still pounding in her chest like a caged bird.

He openly frowns.  “How d’ya know-- wait.”  Sudden comprehension dawns on his face.  “Alma?!” he says, incredulous. “But-- but you’re--”

They stare at each other in stunned silence.  Jack’s face is trained on hers in rapt attention, and Alma backs away slowly.  It’s odd to see him looking so young. The last time she’d seen him he’d appeared in his mid-forties, but now he looked...sixteen? Seventeen? He couldn’t have been more than twenty.

Suddenly Jack starts to laugh, and Alma flinches, even though it lacks the cold edge it’d grown into.  

“But, but-- this means--” Jack chokes out, “that you-- you fucked up.  It’s the only explanation! You accidentally sent yourself back in time!”  He continues laughing, and Alma doesn’t quite grasp why this is so funny to him, until he gives himself away by muttering, “Not so perfect any more, are you?”

“Yes,” Alma replies, “I’ve sent myself back in time.”

Suddenly, Jack scowls and gives her a piercing look.  She’s nearly to the door now, heart pounding. She doesn’t know how to handle this: not after what Caul had done.

“Wait.  It  _ was _ an accident, wasn’t it?” Jack says.

Alma stares at him a moment.  “...Yes,” she replies, trying to figure a way out of this situation.

Jack gives an odd, stifled looking grin that doesn’t sit quite right on his face.  “Good,” he smirks. “...where are you going?” he tacks on, eyes narrowing, which would be threatening except he seems almost nervous.  Alma had forgotten that expression.

“Do you know where Mrs. Avocet and the other ymbrynes are?  I need to speak with them.”

Jack crosses his arms.  “Tell me my future and I’ll say.”

Alma can feel her eyes flash.   _ The nerve of him! _  “I will not.  If you’re not going to tell me where they are I’m going to go looking myself!”

Jack looks mutinous for a minute before grumbling, “They’re out in the back gardens.”

Alma is almost afraid to turn her back on him, but she does it anyway and marches towards the back porch.

“Hey!” Jack says, and gets up to follow her.   Alma gives him a  _ look _ , the one she used to reserve for her wards when they were being particularly rude, and Jack’s face gets flat.  He reconsiders following her and says instead, “I’m going to get Myron.”

Alma stops, genuinely surprised.  “He’s here?”

Jack looks at her like she’s grown a second head.  “Of course he’s here. We all live here, or can’t you remember?”

Alma can feel her lips getting thin.   _ Honestly, I’d forgotten how rude he was at this age. _  “Right,” she says, careful not to add that Myron had left when they’d been teenagers.   _ I can’t tell any of them what the future holds.  It would be too dangerous to try and change it. Myron’ll probably be leaving in a few months at the most... _

Steeling herself, Alma walks back into the kitchen area, and can see the old overgrown garden through the windows.  Somewhere behind her, Caul--  _ no, Jack _ , she reminds herself-- is tromping down the basement stairs, shouting, “MYRON, GUESS WHAT--!”

The door to the back gardens is open, save for a screen drawn down to keep the bugs out, and Alma remembers the proper mechanism to open the screen.  She pulls on the metal revolving cord hanging by the side of the door, and the screen is drawn to one side. Myron had built this, she remembers, almost bitterly.  She and he had installed it together when they were children-- he couldn’t have been more than twelve, and she must have been about five, or maybe six-- he’d let her hand him all the tools.  Jack had been angry about something or other, and had hidden in the washing room brooding instead of helping them.

Shaking her head to clear the bittersweet memory from her mind, Alma steps through the doorway out onto the steps that led down to the stone path that wound through the tangle of a garden.  Ancient fruit trees grew bent with age, and wild looking vegetable patch dominated the right side of the garden. The left was a field of flowers, interspersed with patches of strawberries and climbing green beans, set up to lean on poles.  It smelled  _ wonderful _ , like home, and Alma could feel her throat beginning to close up with tears.  She had  _ missed _ this place terribly.  She took a few calming breaths, and, when she no longer felt like she might burst into tears at any moment, Alma strolls through the garden.  

She doesn’t see Mrs. Avocet or her class of ymbrynes in the garden, but unless Jack had lied to her-- which was entirely possible, she knew-- they were probably out past the old cherry tree that marked the end of the garden in the big fields.  Likely they were doing some practical demonstrations on how to create or close loops, or maybe a few flight lessons to let the girls get out some of their jittery energy.

As Alma passed the cherry tree she stopped in her tracks.   _ Wait.  What do am I going to tell my past self? _  She frowned, unsure.   _ I don’t think I’ll-- she’ll-- or, well, ‘past-me’ is going to panic, but… _  Alma took a steadying sigh.  “I will be fine,” she told herself firmly, and marched forward once again.

\---

Alma finds Mrs. Avocet and the ymbrynes-in-training in the fields, as expected.  They are flying in revolving eights overhead. Alma remembers this game: it was frustrating.  Mrs. Avocet would quiz her students on different types of flight patterns, and every time a student answered a question right they’d have to chase someone down to tag, and that person would answer the next question.  If the student got the question wrong, they’d have others thrown at them in rapid succession until they got one right.

Alma only had to stand there for a minute before one of the ymbrynes noticed her, and they all followed Mrs. Avocet down to the ground.  Mrs. Avocet landed near her pile of clothes and dressed herself promptly, and she turned to Alma with a frown. 

“Mrs. Avocet,” Alma says, hardly holding back her grin, for it was good to see Mrs. Avocet looking so young and free of weariness again, “I’m Alma Peregrine.”

Mrs. Avocet raises a scrutinizing eyebrow. “I can see that, Miss Peregrine.”  She cocks her head to the side, and a faint approving smile graces her face. “It seems you graduated.  I am sure you remained one of my better students…”

Suddenly Mrs. Avocet frowns.  “But you’re here for help, aren’t you?  What’s happened?”

Alma is aware of the students eyes on her back now, as they change from birds back into young girls, rustling as they put their garments back on.  “I made a mistake,” she replies. “I was opening a new time loop, and I slipped up. I was sent here, to the past. About...a hundred or so years, I think.  Perhaps more.”

“Oh dear,” Mrs. Avocet says.  “I’m glad you ended up here, where I can help you.  How did the mistake happen?” Her eyes are bright and clear and demanding, just as Alma remembers them being.  She nearly shrinks back, but then remembers she’s no longer a student.

“I made the mistake of overtaxing myself.  I was tired, and should have let myself rest before trying to open a time loop.  I mispronounced a word.”

“Or two,” Mrs. Avocet answers.  “But I am glad you know your mistake so you won’t make it again.” 

Alma smiles.   _ Ever the teacher _ , she thinks.

Behind her she hears a gasp, and then a voice quite similar to her own says, “But-- that’s  _ me _ !”

Alma turns, smiling.  She finds her younger self easily, as she stands at the forefront of the crowd.  The other girls are all gaping. “Yes, it’s-- it’s me,” she says.

_ I can’t believe I ever looked so young.  I must be...what, thirteen? _

“I…” her thirteen year old self stutters for a moment before saying, “I can’t believe...but how?”

“An accident,” she replies succinctly, “but it is nice to see you and everyone else.” She smiles sadly at the group of young ymbrynes grouped behind herself. Many of them had been killed by the wights when they’d first risen, or tortured by Caul and his men alongside Alma. It was  _ heartbreaking _ to see them all now, whole and hale and young. Alma blinks back tears and turns to Mrs. Avocet. “I don’t want to interrupt your lessons…”

Mrs. Avocet smiles, but she has a knowing look in her eyes. For the first time, Alma wonders how many students Mrs. Avocet has watched die. “It’s too late for that, my dear. We should head back for lunch, they won’t be able to concentrate anyway now that you’re here.” 

Alma nods, and lets Mrs. Avocet lead them back to the house. She decides to walk alongside her younger self, smiling at her gently. 

She seems to be in awe of Alma, just as all the other girls are here, too. Alma doesn’t try to make conversation. She’s still trying to figure out what, exactly, she should say. 

—-

Myron and Jack are waiting for them on the back porch. Jack is feigning nonchalance, but Alma can see the curious gleam in his eyes. Myron is pacing back and forth in excitement, and seems oddly graceful until Alma realizes it’s because he doesn’t have his limp. Not yet, anyway. 

Myron stops when he sees her. His eyes search her face hungrily, and he steps forward. He opens his mouth to say something, but then closes it. 

“Hello, Myron,” Alma says. 

“It really  _ is _ you!” He exclaims. “But how— I mean, I was  _ sure  _ Jack was pulling my leg—”

“I didn’t lie,” Jack snaps irritably, clenching his hand.

Myron ignores him and steps forward, holding a hand out to Alma. She stares at it for only a moment before she realizes he wants her to shake it. 

“It’s good to see you,” she says, only halfway lying. 

He smiles awkwardly. “You’ve got to tell me all about the future! And I am going to show you what I’ve been working on—”

“Myron, that’s quite enough,” Mrs. Avocet interrupts. “We’re going to need to make up a guest room for Miss Alma. You’ll get to show her your work later.”

Myron ducks his head, cowed. “Yes, ma’am.”

Mrs. Avocet smiles. “Alright.” She turns to the group of ymbrynes behind her. “Miss Crowbill, Miss Goose, please go set up one of our guest rooms for Miss Alma. You five,” she said, waving a hand at a group of students, “please go and get the sandwiches from the icebox for our lunch. And make up a few extras for our unexpected guest.”

The girls hurried off to do their respective tasks. 

Mrs. Avocet turned to Alma’s brothers. “Myron, Jack, if you would please go set the dining table. Make sure there is an additional space for Miss Alma. And once you’re done, go and help the others in the kitchen.”

Myron said, “Yes, ma’am,” and disappeared into the house. Jack, scowling, followed. 

“The rest of you can go inside and tidy up,” Mrs. Avocet told the rest of the girls. They left, whispering excitedly. 

Finally, Mrs. Avocet turned to Alma. “Why don’t we go sit down in the drawing room and talk for a few minutes before lunch?”

Alma nods. “Very well. Thank you for your hospitality…”

“Of course, my dear,” Mrs. Avocet replies, and marches off into the house.  Alma pauses, enjoying the sun and fresh air. She takes a moment to think.

_ I am glad to be visiting, but I hope I can get back to see my wards soon.  I don’t know how long I’ll be able to handle Jack or Myron without bursting into tears.  And I can’t tell anyone here what the future holds. _

With a bitter sigh and tired smile, she follows Mrs. Avocet into the shadowy inside of the place that she can most closely call home.

**Author's Note:**

> hope y'all enjoyed the first chapter! Comments are treasured, I always enjoy hearing back from readers!  
> Updates will likely be sporadic, since I've got a huge course load with school right now. As it stands I was only able to write this because I had a week off... :,) RIP
> 
> again, lemme know what y'all liked!  
> future chapters are planned to have lots more interaction / introspection with Alma, Myron, and Jack/Caul...so look forward to that!


End file.
